CHAPTER 8
Clark
The countdown was over. I stood in the cabin doorway, looking at Maverick—flushed and wanting and waiting for me.
"Come in," he said, stepping aside.
I walked in and closed the door behind me. The fire was going, the space warm and intimate. He'd been waiting for me.
"Sit," I said gently, gesturing to the couch.
We sat facing each other and I could see the nervous energy radiating off him. His fingers tapped against his thigh, then stilled when he noticed me watching.
"I gave you three days to think about what this means. What you'd be agreeing to." I held his gaze. "Before we go any further, I need to make sure you understand exactly what I’m looking for and what you're saying yes to."
He nodded, serious. "Okay."
"This isn't just sex, Maverick. This is a power exchange.
It means I'm in charge—of your body, your pleasure, your discipline when you need it.
It means you trust me to know what you need, sometimes better than you know yourself.
" I leaned forward. "It means rules. Structure. Consequences when you break them."
"I understand." His voice was steady, but his hands twisted together in his lap.
"Do you? Because once we start this, I'm not going easy on you.
I'll expect obedience. I'll enforce boundaries.
I'll call you on your shit when you try to run or hide.
" I searched his face. "And I'll take care of you.
Feed you, hold you, praise you, guide you.
All of it. That's what you're agreeing to. "
"That's what I want," he said quietly. "All of it."
"Tell me why."
He took a breath, and the words started tumbling out.
"Because I'm tired of being in charge of everything.
Or—not everything, I'm not in charge of much, really, just my own disaster of a life—" He caught himself, but kept going.
"Because I want someone to see me. The real me.
Not the version where I'm fine and everything's an adventure and I'm just this carefree guy traveling around.
" His fingers twisted together in his lap.
"When you tell me what to do, I don't have to think so much.
I can just—I don't know, exist? Without all the noise in my head constantly telling me I should be somewhere else or doing something different.
" He met my eyes. "It makes me feel safe and like I can finally stop running. "
The honesty in his voice, the way he'd worked through his own rambling to land on that truth—it settled something in my chest.
I reached out and cupped his face. "And you're sure? Because this is real, Maverick. This isn't playing. This is giving yourself to me."
"I'm sure." No hesitation. "I trust you."
"Then we need to establish some things. Rules. Expectations. Safewords."
"Okay." He was listening intently now, that nervous energy focusing into attention.
"Safewords first. Red means stop immediately. Yellow means slow down or check in. Green means keep going. You use them whenever you need to. No exceptions. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." A pause, then he added quickly, "I mean, I've never used them before—safewords, I mean—but I know how they work, and I will if I need to, I promise. I'm not going to be stupid about it."
"Good. Because I need to trust that you'll use them."
"You can. I will." He was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I want to do this right."
"You will," I said firmly. "Now rules." I counted them off.
"One: honesty. You don't hide what you're feeling.
You don't lie to me or yourself. Two: communication.
You tell me what you need, even when it's hard.
Three: safety. You don't take unnecessary risks.
You ask for help when you need it. Four: respect.
For yourself and for me. That means taking care of your body, eating regularly, sleeping enough. "
He was listening intently, absorbing every word. His fidgeting had stopped.
"When you break these rules—and you will—there are consequences.
Sometimes that's a conversation. Sometimes it's corner time.
Sometimes it's spanking—my hand or more if needed.
" I held his gaze. "But always with your consent, always with your safeword available.
We'll negotiate what you're comfortable with. "
"Yes." His voice was steady, certain. "I want that. I need that."
"In return, I take care of you. I make decisions. I guide you. I protect you." My thumb brushed his cheek. "You're mine, Maverick. That means I'm responsible for you. And I take that seriously."
"I know you do." He leaned into my touch. "That's why I trust you."
"One more thing." I pulled back slightly. "What do you call me?"
"Sir?" He said it like a question, uncertain. "Or—I mean, I've been calling you Clark, but I figured when we're doing this it would be different, and I don't know what you prefer—"
"That's good. Sir works. But when we're like this—when it's just us—you call me Daddy. Can you do that?"
His pupils dilated, breath catching. The word came out quieter. "Yes, Daddy."
"Good boy." The praise made him melt visibly, and I watched him try to process the reaction. "Such a good boy."
His whole body responded, leaning toward me. "Okay. I can—yeah. Yes, Daddy."
"Knowing all of that and everything I want, is that something you want?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "I'm yours, Daddy."
"Then say it. All of it. Tell me what you're choosing."
He took a breath. "I'm choosing to trust you. To let you lead. To be your good boy." The words came more confidently now. "I'm choosing this dynamic, these rules, this relationship. I'm choosing you." His eyes met mine, fierce and certain. "I'm yours, Daddy. Completely."
The certainty in his voice settled everything that had been restless in me for the past week. This was right. This was what we both needed and I’d take it for as long as he was here.
"Come here, baby." I pulled him close, one hand cupping the back of his neck. "Let me show you what that means."
I kissed him properly this time—not gentle, not tentative. This was claiming. This was mine.
He melted into it immediately, hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer. I could feel him already half-hard against me, responding to my touch, to my authority. When I pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"Take off your shirt."
He obeyed immediately, pulling his sweater over his head. His hands shook slightly.
"The rest too. I want to see all of you." I moved to the armchair by the fireplace and sat, giving myself space to watch. "Strip for me, baby."
His face went red, but he didn't argue. His hands fumbled with his thermal, pulling it over his head. By the time he got to his jeans, I could see the obvious bulge straining against the denim.
He pushed the jeans down, then his socks. When he hesitated at his underwear—already tented, a damp spot visible—I raised an eyebrow.
"Everything."
"Right. Sorry." His hands shook as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband. He pushed them down and stepped out of them, and I took a moment to just look at him.
Christ.
Young, beautiful, nervous—and fully, desperately hard. His cock stood against his belly, flushed dark and leaking. The blush that had been confined to his face spread down his throat, across his chest. He shifted under my gaze, hands twitching like he wanted to cover himself but didn't dare.
"Look at you," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "Perfect. So fucking perfect for me."
His breath hitched and his cock visibly twitched at the praise.
"Come here."
He walked over and I reached for him, pulling him down to straddle my lap. He made a soft sound when our bodies pressed together, his erection trapped between us, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders.
"I've wanted this for days," I murmured against his throat. "Wanted you like this. Naked and needy and mine."
"I'm yours," he breathed. "I want to be yours."
I pulled back to look at him. "Show me."
"How?" He was breathing harder now, already half-gone.
"Tell me what you want. Use your words. Beg me for it."
His face flushed deeper. "I want—god, this is embarrassing—I want you to touch me." It came out rushed. "Please. I need you to touch me, I've been thinking about it since you walked in, since before that, really, and I—"
"Good start. But you're going to call me Daddy when we do this. Try again."
His eyes went wide, pupils dilating. A nervous laugh escaped. "Right. Okay. Sorry." He took a breath. "Please, Daddy. I need you to touch me."
The title sent heat straight through me. "Good boy. Such a good boy, asking so nicely."
I wrapped my hand around him and his breath hitched, hips jerking up involuntarily. He was already leaking, desperate for this, and I stroked him slowly while he panted against my shoulder.
"That's it," I murmured. "Let me hear you. Let me know how good this feels."
"So good," he whimpered. "Daddy, please—"
"Please what?"
"More. I need more. I need—" He cut himself off, embarrassed.
"What do you need, baby? Tell Daddy."
"I need you inside me." It came out in a rush. "Please. I've been thinking about it for days. I need you to—to make me yours."
"You want Daddy to fuck you?"
"Yes. Please. Yes."
I shifted him off my lap and stood. "Bedroom. Now."
He practically ran.
I followed more slowly, taking my time, and letting the anticipation build. When I got to the bedroom, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his palms on his thighs.
"Lie back," I said, starting to undress. "Legs spread."
He obeyed and I watched his eyes go wide as I stripped off my clothes. When I was naked, I moved to the nightstand and pulled out lube and a condom I’d stashed when I was feeling hopeful.
"You done this before?" I asked, settling between his legs.
"Yes. But not... not like this. Not with someone like you."
"Someone like me?"